Millions turned on their TV this weekend to see Stefon Diggs making the now infamous play dubbed the “Minneapolis Miracle.” I was not one of the millions, but I most certainly felt its miraculous effect in a less-than-miraculous way: self-doubt.

The future is terrifying. High school has no shortage of moments designed to spark fear in students over the fact that everything is going to happen disturbingly quick. Thus, when I saw my life flash before my eyes as I watched the news reel footage of the Minneapolis Miracle, I blurted abruptly, “The answer is C.” Looking at my confused sister, I realized I was still, in fact, at home. You see, my problem (other than football-induced amnesia) is: Despite my calm and collected exterior as a dignified man, inside I am an obsessive critic of myself.

I am persistently frustrated I am not fully set on a career choice, what answer my teacher wants or the topic for my next Statesman story. Especially in the career aspect, I strive for the absolute best. I want to be the Diggs—no, the literal, human-form of the Minneapolis Miracle in my field.

Very aware of the fact that I am in no way, shape or form, up to being that singular fantastic football play to win the game, I try to give myself a pat on the back here and there to ease the pain. I listen to high school phrases like, “You tried your best,” and “Good job!” which, mind you, are probably the saddest things I’ve ever heard muttered from a teacher’s mouth. Other than, “Actually, the answer’s B: Minneapolis Miracle.”